The phone rang next to the bed. A slender arm reached out and grabbed the phone off the hook, almost knocking it to the floor in the process. A thin copper bracelet, etched with runelike characters, decorated the end of the slender arm, now clutching the phone. "Yes?" the woman belonging to the arm said breathily.

"Betty…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake." Hannah Fortune hung up the phone with a slam and rolled over in bed. She poked the tall blond operative next to her with a pointed finger, carefully varnished with acrylic nail polish.

"Time to get lost, sweetie." With that, she literally gave the much-younger man a boost out of bed. He landed on his rump, rubbing it with one hand as he glared at her sleepily.

"You should consider yourself honored, sweetie. I don't usually allow sleepovers. Now get dressed. I need to be at Section in less than an hour."

Forty-five minutes later, exactly, Hannah Fortune strode confidently into Section One's common area. Though she was clearly a woman of a certain age, she was 55 years old in real time. Nevertheless, thanks to good genes and the aid of certain cosmetics, she could easily pass for a woman of 40. She was tanned and slender. Not a tall woman, she was barely 5'5". As a result, she literally lived in high heels. An elegant dresser, she knew when she looked good, and that was most of the time.

Her chief skill at Section had been safecracking, but as the skill was gradually eroded by the use of computerized lockpicking devices, her skill was denigrated and finally abandoned altogether. Her secondary skill was seduction. It was not something she had to learn at Section, it was an acquired skill she picked up early in life, partly due to the outrageous beauty nature had endowed her with, partly due to her almost instantaneous realization that pretty women were given certain advantages in life. Like cars, bank accounts, furs, jewelry… She liked to live high, and she supported herself by using men. Mostly distinguished men, as they had the most to lose and the most to give.

Right now, she was headed to the briefing area. Her sights were set on someone. But this was someone she clearly disliked. Birkoff. She muttered to herself as she sat down next to him at the briefing table. Little computer nerd. Thought he had all the answers. Couldn't stand him.

As if that were not bad enough, she had the greater misfortune of having to take her next mission with Nikita. God, she hated tall women. Especially tall, blonde, young women. Her own hair was an indeterminate shade of brown, but there was no gray to mar her appearance. Her eyes were brown as well, a fact that rarely if ever thrilled her, as she thought light eyes were like windows to the soul, and dark eyes opacities that blocked that passage inward.

Therefore, she hated Nikita on sight. But what was worse than a tall, blonde, young woman? A French man. God, they were the worst. It was rumored that Hannah had a penchant for sleeping with any man who could benefit her, but she refused to sleep with French men, claiming they had the sensibilities of a pig. She didn't know Michael. She didn't have to. He was French. That spoke for itself.

Operations came into the briefing area, and before he began the briefing, he glanced warmly at Hannah. "Miss Fortune, how splendid you could join us," he said smoothly. Of course, this caused great consternation amongst the operatives. Everyone was wondering what Hannah had done to Operations. Operations was not a pleasant man. Not on any given day. Not in any given lifetime.

Nikita stared at Birkoff, whose eyes grew round and black as his pupils dilated. Nikita wondered what he was looking at, and followed his gaze. She gasped. Michael heard her inhalation and turned his attention to her. His blank stare slipped for just a moment, but people on either side of him thought they heard him say a certain French expletive.

Whose fingernails were carefully resting on Operations' arm? And during a briefing, no less? Why, Miss Fortune's, of course…

Nikita stared in utter disbelief at the nerve of the older female operative. People just off training are usually careful. People just off training are usually fearful. Of being canceled. Of just being noticed by Operations. What was up with this Hannah Fortune woman?

Michael sat back in his chair, studying the situation. He could feel the woman's contempt at her first glance. He didn't know why. He hadn't trained her. He hadn't even so much as spoken to her. Nor would he, if he could possibly help it now.

Birkoff blinked, chocolate brown eyes flickering back and forth between Michael and Nikita. He wanted to say something, but it was not his way. He disliked conflict of any kind, and he wasn't into confrontation. Even with women. No, make that especially with women.

But for all three operatives, being hated on sight was something new. It usually took at least a month for new recruits to feel incautious enough to express themselves even remotely like this woman. Considering the mission they were about to embark on, none of them felt exactly comfortable having to depend on Hannah. As for putting their lives in her hands, well, as Walter would say, Don't even go there.

Hannah continued to stroke Operations' arm with her beautifully lacquered fingertips. Just watching her made Nikita's skin crawl. There was something about predatory women she disliked instinctively. She recalled Andrea, the profiler who couldn't handle Michael's rejection. This woman was definitely in the same category, but thanking God for small favors, she was evidently not interested in Michael.

The silence dragged on, as Operations continued to bask in Hannah's sunny reflection. It was positively unnerving.

Suddenly Nikita scraped back her chair and stood up. "Ahem," she said, trying to control the biting sarcasm that came to mind. "Are we to assume that our PDA's contain the necessary intel to begin this mission?"

Michael hid a smile at Nikita's belligerent tone. He could always count on her to say exactly what she meant, even if it was rather like playing cat'o'nine tails with a lion.

Operations flushed beneath his tan. "Nikita, you're out of line."

Nikita's eyes flashed. "I'm out of line? Oh, no, I don't think so. I—"

Michael leaned over abruptly and kissed her, right on the mouth, in front of God, Operations and Section. Nikita stared at him, speechless. Birkoff's mouth dropped open. And Operations smiled wickedly.

"Thank you, Michael. I'm sure we all enjoyed that. Now, back to the mission at hand. Where was I?" Operations regarded Michael with a loose, lazy-eyed look that said, Do that again, and I will cancel you, heir to the throne or not.

Hannah smirked at Michael, knowing he disliked being reprimanded by Operations, at any time, but especially in front of his would-be lady love, Nikita.

That wasn't what Nikita was thinking at all. She vaguely thought that Michael had finally snapped. Or that this was a test of some kind. But at no time did it occur to her that he was bringing their relationship out into the open. Oh, no. He was just trying to shut her up the only way he could.

Birkoff flashed Nikita a look that said, There are worse things than being canceled, let's see if we can come up with one for Miss Fortune. Nikita nodded imperceptibly, her hand reaching under the table for Michael's. Keeping her eyes on Operations, she felt Michael squeeze her hand lightly. Good, they were all agreed then. Miss Fortune was going to have a very interesting mission…

After they were fully briefed, finally, Nikita did a slow walk to Michael's office, where Birkoff joined them a few moments later. Nikita waited until Michael activated the anti-surveillance device in his desk drawer, then said: "Is it me, or does this woman rub all of you the same way?"

Birkoff laughed shortly. "God, she's annoying. How did she make it through training? No, don't tell me. She seduced the trainer."

"Who obviously wasn't French. Thank God she wasn't assigned to me."

Nikita stared at Michael. "I've never heard you say anything remotely personal about another operative, Michael. She must have really gotten to you."

He raked both hands through his hair. "You have no idea. She came on to me, at first, because she heard a rumor that I was really Belgian, but when she found out I was French, she made it very clear that French men are at the top of her scut list."

Birkoff snorted. "Well, she doesn't like computer geeks, as she referred to me, in front of Madeline and Operations, thank you very much. And they let her get away with it, too! I mean, what is the definition of insubordination anyway?"

Michael smiled kindly. "I hate to say this, Birkoff, but she would have to say she hated *them* for it to be insubordination…you're just not big enough to qualify."

Birkoff narrowed his eyes. "Well, she should be careful. I could accidentally put her into abeyance and then, by the time the mistake is sorted out, she'd be long gone."

Nikita whistled. "I had no idea I was in the presence of such power, Birkoff. Remind me to be nicer to you."

"I will." Birkoff said, with a wicked gleam in his deceptively innocent-looking eyes, "What about putting her on point, Michael? Wouldn't that get her, um, out of the way?"

Michael gave the younger man a pained look. "Yes," he said tersely, "but it would probably get the rest of us killed, too. That would be a waste of resources."

Nikita shook her head, clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Great, now I'm a wasted resource."

Michael leaned towards Nikita, as if he were going to say something, but thought better of it. He glanced at Birkoff, then looked down at his laptop.

"Well, Michael, if you won't say it, I will. Nikita, Michael doesn't think of you as just a resource. Obviously." Birkoff crossed his arms in front of him, daring Michael to contradict him.

Michael smiled weakly at Birkoff. "Obviously."

Birkoff gave Michael a feral smile. "And if you think that all those times I interrupted you and Nikita, it was just bad timing, you need to see this swampland I'd like to sell you."

Michael's eyes opened wide, their vivid green showing clearly against his fair skin. "You've been doing it intentionally?"

Birkoff laughed. "Heck, yes! It's such a hoot, seeing the two of you scramble back to your respective corners! Do you two honestly think that no one else knows about your relationship? I mean, is this the Emperor's New Clothes or what? We all pretend not to notice, but really, Michael…you got the blame, you might as well play the game."

Michael stood up behind his desk and glared at Birkoff. "Are you telling me that we've basically wasted the past two years of our lives trying to hide something that can't be hidden, Birkoff?"

Birkoff pondered that. "Well…actually, yeah."

Michael looked overtly angry, which was something that Birkoff had never seen. But far from cringing apologetically away from Michael, Birkoff stood his ground, looking something like David facing Goliath. Suddenly Birkoff's mouth dropped open.

"You mean, all this time, you two…you haven't been…you know?"

Michael's anger faded to a slow burn. His eyes flickered back and forth between Birkoff and Nikita. He refused to confirm or deny anything, but Nikita was far more outspoken, not to mention perturbed by the most recent turn of events.

"That's right, Seymour. The Great Romance is the Big Fizzle. There hasn't been a move worth recording since the Armel mission, and only Michael knows how much of that was real…and since he isn't telling…"

Birkoff rubbed his hands together. "Oooh, Nikita, this is intel some people would kill to get their hands on."

Michael moved then, standing directly in front of Birkoff, his eyes glacier-cool. "And if it leaves this room, I'll know who to look for." The threat was unmistakable. But this time, Birkoff was simply not intimidated. He knew that Nikita would protect him. She was enjoying Michael's discomfiture way too much to let Birkoff suffer at Michael's hands.

"I have the tape of Armel, Michael." Birkoff's unspoken message was nevertheless clear. If something mysteriously happened to him, the tape would equally mysteriously surface.

This time Nikita sneered derisively. "Gee, maybe we could look at it together sometime and compare notes. You could tell me which parts are real and which parts you faked."

Birkoff cackled. "I don't get it, Michael. You're free. She's free. There's nothing standing in your way now. And the two of you are still trading insults like you were back in high school. Do you guys get off on inflicting pain on each other, is that it?"

Michael winced and closed his eyes, his mouth tight. Nikita tried to keep her anger fired up, but she lost heart when she saw Michael's reaction. "That's enough, Birkoff," she said softly.

Birkoff glanced at Nikita and saw that her anger had been replaced by an uncharacteristic sorrow. "Sorry, Nikita."

"My fault, Birkoff. I let my anger get the better of me, and I took things into an area neither one of us should have ventured into."

Nikita looked down at her hands and sighed. Birkoff looked at the two of them and wanted to knock their heads together. He took a deep breath. "Look, guys, all kidding aside, you two are so clearly right for each other. So like, get off the dime. Not that my opinion is worth a damn, but you could do worse than listen to a computer geek."

Michael was so utterly still and silent, Birkoff didn't know what to make of him. Was he thinking about hurting him? Was he thinking about hurting Nikita? Or was he just thinking about being hurt? For a strong, silent type, Michael had hidden depths, and sometimes, Birkoff actually suspected he had a sensitive side.

"Could you two like shake hands or something and make up? I hate to leave things like this."

Michael finally spoke, but it wasn't what either Birkoff or Nikita expected him to say. "The mission leaves in thirty minutes. And we haven't solved our problem with Hannah Fortune."

"Michael, do you want me to change the profile? I could—"

Michael didn't even look at Birkoff. "What I'd like, Birkoff, is for you to leave. Now. I don't want to repeat myself. Is that clear?"

"Like crystal." Birkoff turned wide eyes on Nikita, but she just nodded and waved him off.

Birkoff closed the door behind him, and Nikita locked it. She turned back to face Michael, who regarded her with his patented blank stare in place. She sighed.

"I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Michael." She laughed softly. "Truth is, you hurt mine so often, I kinda started thinking you must be impervious to pain yourself. Otherwise, you might realize how much it hurts." She bit her lip.

"That's not what I'm thinking, Nikita."

"Oh?" She shrugged. "Then I confess, Michael, I don't have a clue."

"I know. That's my fault. I've gotten so good at hiding from you, I don't know how to let you in anymore," Michael admitted sadly.

"Michael?" She ached to touch him. His struggle was visible now.

"Ni-ki-ta," he said slowly, "meet me halfway. Please."

She didn't even pretend to misunderstand him. She went into his embrace and he clung to her as if he were desperate.

"I never wanted it to be this way, Kita. I've had these feelings inside of me for so long. But I don't know how to tell you."

She lay her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck. He blinked. "Just tell me, Michael," she whispered.

He pulled her away from his body, making direct eye contact with her for once. "I think I'm in love with you."

She nodded in all seriousness, trying to hide a smile. "You think so?"

He nodded back, his mouth a thin line. "I mean it, Kita."

"I know."

"How do you feel?"

"I'm fine." She smiled happily.

"No, I mean, how do you feel about me?"

She regarded him carefully for a full minute, making him sweat. "I think you should have asked me that question a long time ago, Michael."

"And what would you have said?"

He tried not to look vulnerable, but his heart was in his eyes. Nikita could not resist that look.

"You know, Michael."

"Say it, Kita. Please," he whispered.

Suddenly a voice blasted over the intercom. It wasn't Birkoff. It was Hannah Fortune. "Mission's leaving in ten! Where the heck are you, Frenchie?"

Nikita spun around and her hand was on the door when Michael shouted "Kita!"

"We're not finished, Kita," he said as she turned back to face him.

She blinked. "You'd put off Section for me, Michael?"

"Yes," he said in a sibilant whisper. No hesitation.

"What about the mission? And Hannah?" Nikita's face darkened ominously just thinking about the older woman and her untimely interruption.

"We'll find a way to deal with her, Kita. Forget her. What about us?"

She smiled sweetly. "Oh, that. I love you, too, Michael." With that, she winked and exited his office. She had a woman to track down. And though Nikita had never killed in cold blood, murder had not necessarily been ruled out as an option.

Michael stared after her in disbelief. She still loved him? After everything they had been through, she still loved him. He felt something crack inside, and he felt a curious warmth permeate his being. He wasn't certain what it was at first, but he soon recognized it for what it was. It was his humanity, a bit frayed around the edges, but still viable. It wasn't dead, only sleeping, and Nikita's "kiss" had awakened it.

Waiting at van access was the hardest thing Michael had ever done. Impatient to see Nikita again, he put all thoughts of Hannah Fortune aside. He didn't care who she latched onto, as long as it wasn't him. And that wasn't likely, given her clear likes and dislikes.

Nikita strode down the hall towards Michael and she carefully hid her feelings from him and anyone else who might be looking. He looked at her, and she merely reflected his blank stare. He looked after her as she entered the van, wishing he didn't have to wait for Miss Fortune. The last to arrive, Hannah arrived on the arm of another older operative. She was so predictable, it was frightening.

Michael closed the doors to van access behind them and entered the van. Once inside, he said little, trying not to be noticed as he observed Nikita. He still felt the powerful rush of feeling engendered by her revelation. As much as he'd dreamed it might be true, he hadn't held out much hope for it, and now, it was like a favorite movie that was playing on every channel in his mind. His eyes met Nikita's and held for a moment before sliding away, knowing it would be dangerous to be distracted during the mission.

Hannah flirted with the operative across from her, and Michael gritted his teeth. He refused to notice her. He refused to deal with this totally unprofessional woman anymore. It wasn't his call to make. It was Operations'. And if he chose to look the other way, while she drove them all mad, then so be it. But that didn't mean that something untoward couldn't befall the woman. Something very untoward.

When they arrived at the point of egress, they fanned out according the planned configuration as ordered by Michael. All except Miss Fortune. She evidently didn't read the profile, or thought she was allowed input during the mission. She was sadly misinformed.

"Everyone gets out here, Miss Fortune. Or are you waiting for a bus to arrive?"

She rose to her feet in a desultory fashion. Observing Michael carefully, she walked to the van door. "Oh, Frenchie…something better not happen to me. Operations wouldn't like that." She left, a tantalizing scent of perfume trailing behind her.

Michael walked to the door and counted to ten. When he was certain she could no longer hear him, he said in a low voice, "And my name is not Frenchie!"

He was on point. Nikita was backing him up. Outside of the two of them, there was no one else on the team he trusted enough with his life or Nikita's. Hannah Fortune could get lost in the shuffle during a firefight, and he wouldn't lift a finger to help, or so he thought.

Michael took out two operatives standing outside the plant they had to enter. "Move to second mark," he ordered the team. He shifted his gun to his other hand as he slid along the wall of the plant. There were too many catwalks and tunnels in which to hide here. He needed more people, more intel, more everything. Suddenly all hell broke loose.

Birkoff was screaming in his ear, "Abort! Abort! The perimeter is dirty! Egress is blocked! Run! Now!" Michael ducked into an office and stopped to gather his thoughts. What had gone wrong? He had no idea. He heard a sound behind him and whirled, almost shooting Nikita in the process.

"God! Don't do that!" He almost broke position, but Birkoff was still screaming in his ear. It was hideously distracting. "Nikita, I don't know which way out is safer. We have about thirty seconds to decide. Transport just disappeared in a puff of smoke."

Nikita nodded silently. Putting a finger to her lips, she signaled Michael that he should just listen. "Birkoff, switch to channel B." She leaned into Michael's body and whispered. "The intel was a set-up, start to finish. Hannah is no longer a problem."

Michael's eyes widened. "How so?" he whispered.

"It seems that someone objected to her flirting so heavily with Operations and all the other operatives. Someone important."

"Who?"

She pointed to her headset, reminding him to whisper off-link. "Madeline."

"Then—?"

"That's right, Michael. She just became a casualty of Section. Sorry she won't be around to collect her 401K?"

He shook his head. "Let's get out of here, Kita."

When they returned to Section, Nikita and Michael went to debriefing to file their respective reports. Truthfully, they had no knowledge of what happened to Miss Fortune. She simply vanished without a trace. Maybe she had a liaison with someone that couldn't wait. Maybe she died in the ensuing chaos when the mission went awry. No one ever saw her body. No one ever saw her alive again. It was rumored that Madeline disliked the woman on sight, not just because she resembled her physically, but because she had designs on Operations.

In truth, Madeline found the woman's habits so distracting, she had to cancel her. She was sure that Operations would approve, if he were in his right mind, but since he was clearly under the influence, he needed a bit of a push in a different direction.

No more Miss Fortune. Just misfortune.

Nikita leaned on the open door to Michael's office. "Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," he responded, equally softly.

She waited a moment before realizing that Michael was not going to invite her inside, and she turned to exit. He grabbed her by the arm, then released her just as suddenly. "Don't go."

"You want to talk?" he asked.

"Yeah. You want a cup of coffee?"

He laughed. "I think we've worked that line a few too many times, Kita."

She moved away from the door, and Michael backed up against his desk. "Want to come over to my apartment?"

"For what?" Michael asked hoarsely, staring at Nikita's mouth.

"You know." Nikita looked exasperated.

"Oh, that." he answered, the same way she had. "I love you, Kita, but I don't want you to think I'm easy."

She almost laughed. "Never in a million years would I make that mistake, Michael. You're a lotta things, but easy ain't one of ‘em."

"Come over here," he said with an eye on the open door.

She walked over to the desk. Michael kissed her. "Your apartment?"

She nodded. Michael laughed. "Bed's too small. Let's go to my place."

"Are we making up for lost time, Michael?"

"Hell, yes. Any objections?"

"Not a one." She stared at Michael's mouth, begging for him to take pity on her. He kissed her, as if he knew exactly what she wanted.

"So this is how it ends."

"No," he said in his sibilant whisper. "This is how it begins."

END